


Moonlight Sonata

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of Drabbles by Helmaninquiel [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death, F/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine being an elf able to give people immortality, so you decide to give it to Bard, your love, and his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonlight Sonata

The sickness had taken hold on your small family much quicker than you thought it would. It gave you little time to prepare. Bard was the first hit, being the one that frequented the town as he worked his barge duties for various employers. And once he fell ill, Sigrid who had been helping tend to him with you, fell ill second. And she passed it to Tilda, who had been sharing a room with her. And last to fall ill was Bain.

But little Tilda was much too weak, and as she slept with her burning fever, you knew it would not be long.

Your darling children, fifteen, twelve, and eight respective to Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda were too young to be taken from this world. And Bard… It pained you to leave his side, but you checked up on him whenever the children were fairing well. And would lay close, whispering to him that the children were fine whenever he asked. And then you would lull him into a sleep, before you would do the same to the children.

Sleep helped all ailments.

None of the children had taken much after you. They all had Bard’s dark hair, and with Bain, the build of a fisherman hauling in heavy loads a day. Sigrid had your face the most, but Tilda was the perfect blend of your smooth, exotic features, and Bard’s rough ones. You did not want any of them to leave this world.

But Bard was awake, doing much better, perhaps nearing the end of his illness. And you were sitting up in bed with him, as it helped him breathe. You fed him warm mouthfuls of soup, just enough to keep his belly full, and knew that you had to tell him what you had kept hidden since you met him – a chance day in the forest near Mirkwood, nearly sixteen years ago. You had fallen in love immediately, and it had been so hard that you married within the month. And not a single regret was given.

Yet he had thought you to be a traveler that had gotten lost in the sick forest, not anything more. And you had done nothing to tell him the truth. But you had to now, if you were to do anything to help.

“There is something that I have kept hidden from you, my love,” you spoke gently, and you waited until he swallowed before you continued, the spoon resting in the now empty bowl, on your lap.

“That the children are sick?” Bard asked hoarsely. “I had my suspicions when you would be gone for hours. Though, you are only exposing yourself-”

“I know I will not get sick,” she said quietly. “I am just worried about you and the children. Yes, they are sick as well.”

“Then you should tend to them, and leave me. I feel better already.” He attempted a smile, but it lacked it’s shine. “I always do when you are near.”

But before you could say another word, coughs suddenly wracked his body, and his fair condition turned for the worst as you spotted speckles of blood in the phlegm he coughed up. A horrible sign. He tried to hide them from you, rubbing his hand on the dark cloth shirt he wore, but your eyes did not miss it.

“Rest,” you spoke instead, your heart heavy with the choice you made in that second. It had to be done. Or they would all die. You took his hands, and gave them a light squeeze. He swallowed, before giving you a warm smile, just like the day you had met. And it brought tears to your eyes. The last you would ever see it. “I love you, Bard. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bard whispered. “Just under the weather. But once this passes, we’ll spend hours together in this room, I promise.” You desperately tried to blink the tears away, but it just made them worse. He blurred before your eyes. “I love you, Y/N. But do not act like this is final.”

But you had so much to tell him still, but you just leaned forward, kissing him lightly, lingering there, relishing him for as much time as you could. “ _Gi melen. Gellon ned i gelir i chent gin ned i ledig._ ” The words were whispered against his lips, and when you pulled away, you saw a hint of confusion on his face. But you spoke the words that sent him in a deep sleep. And a sob left you at his limp form, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, but I must do this. Or you will all die.”

You wrote a letter for him to explain all you could not say to his face.

_My love and my family,_

_I am sorry to have left you in such a way, but it is something that I do not regret. My only regret is that I could not stay here longer. That I could not watch you grow into beautiful and intelligent adults, or a gray and frail old man. But I leave this world with one last gift – the only consequence to my departure._

_You see, I was born far, far away from here, in a land called Valinor, nearly eight thousand years ago. I was one of the last of my people to migrate to this land, Middle Earth. And I resided in Mirkwood, where I learned all there was to know, watched empires rise and fall, and watched kings be born and kings perish in war. I was not like my other kin, in that I did not have just the powers of healing, but also the gift of eternal life. I could make any mortal man an immortal one. I had the powers of granting an elven life. It was a gift to be used lightly, as it put a heavy drain on my body, and I would fall into a deep sleep for weeks._

_I know that you, my love, have always wondered why I never seemed to sleep. The answer is that I did not. Elves go into a deep meditative state to replenish their energy, but never sleep. So when I slept after granting the first human their eternal life – some near four thousand years ago, her life put me into a deep, unnatural sleep. One my kin did not think I would survive._

_It was then that Lord Elrond, a Lord of Rivendell, gifted with foresight, saw that I would wake and meet my love in the outskirts of Mirkwood forest. That we would have an extremely happy life together, and that we would want for nothing but each other. I am sorry that I could not tell you the truth, but I feared that I would be the cause of a riff in our life. I see, now, that it was foolish. There is no one who loves me more than you, Bard, and no one that I love more than you and our family._

_And that is why I must do this. Lord Elrond said that meeting you would be my end, Bard, but I cared not. I thought, once I saw you get off of your boat in the Kingdom of Mirkwood, that I would be able to turn away, to protect my fate. But I couldn’t. Not when I could see how happy we would be together. Not when I could see how happy you could make me, and how happy I hoped to make you. I wanted to give you the world, I always have, and this… this will do just that._

_The King of Mirkwood, and the Prince, are cousins of mine. And people that you can trust. You have always been kin, though you never knew. Elven royalty.. I enclose in this a letter I wish for you to give him. One that will ensure that, should you choose, you can journey west to see me once more in the Undying Lands. But I do not want that day to come anytime soon. I want each and every one of you to experience a full life, to see all you wish to see, and to love all you can love._

_He will grant you the passage, I know so. And he will tell you just as I am now – I am alright. I am quite happy with this decision. I got to see you all smile, and grow, and love and laugh. And it was all I ever wanted from you. You are immortal now, but you can still die by blade or anything that can kill any other man. Your immunity to diseases is what has kept you alive – what will ensure you do not get sick again. I could not bear for you to suffer._

_I love you._

_Forgive me._

You folded the letter and placed it, and the supplement for your elven cousin, gently atop Bard’s chest on the bed, and then you slowly began to lift each child, bringing them onto the bed with him, so that you could do this all at once. Otherwise, you would never finish.

You wet the kingsfoil, and your hand clutched Sigrid and Tilda’s in one, their hands held tightly together, and Bain and Bard’s in the other. The wetness of the kingsfoil made your grip slimey, but you held fast and then began to chant.

 _“Menno o nin na hon_  
I eliad annen annin  
hon leitho o ngurth.”

It was like a moonlight sonata, caressing them and the words magical. They seemed to carry their own music the more you chanted, your heart going into every word. You felt the energy drain you, filling the four figures bunched together, and you closed your eyes, seeing their shining faces, merry, rosy, full of the light that you were giving up. And you repeated your chant once more, the light fading. And you opened your eyes, your breath held in your chest. And when Bard’s eyes shot open, you exhaled one last time in a sigh of relief, before the world grew as dark as a starless night.


	2. Sunrise Quartet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a request to continue the first chapter.

The moment Bard awoke, he knew something was severely wrong. A slickness was in his hand, and a heavy weight was collapsing onto his legs. Glancing to the slickness, his eyes bleary, he could see it was a grass-like weed, wet and crumpled as if it had been worried over incessantly before put to use. And that Bard’s own hand was clutching Bain’s. 

The weight gained his attention next, and Bard saw the fair hair of his wife covering your face, and the fading effects of a shine leaving you, until your aura was dull, and lifeless. As if you were … were stomped on in the rain. “Y/N?” Bard croaked. His throat was incredibly sore, but he unwound his fingers from his son’s, reaching for you. You did not stir.

“Y/N?” Bard tried again, more urgently. There was a strength in him that he had not had in weeks, forcing him to remain in bed when there was no money being brought in to take care of the family. “Y/N!” He pulled the hair from your face, giving him a view of the blank eyes. The fever could not have taken you so suddenly. He was sure you were not sick, but he could not trust his own eyes in his fever. Had you, and he had failed to notice?

Sitting upright, he felt the heavy weight of parchment falling onto his lap, and glanced down quickly at a letter folded in the way you always folded your letters. Delicately, resembling a flower. It was strange, he had always found, but endearing. It was from you. But he could not remember it being there earlier. Bard’s name was scrawled in your elegant script along the front. For him. 

“Ma?” It was Sigrid that had spoken, voice drowsy, as if she had been sleeping for a long while. 

Bard did not glance at his eldest. He pushed the letter towards her, giving nothing but the ordered instructions, “Read this.”

Sigrid did not argue, taking the letter from her father and opening the seal immediately. Bard stood from the bed, his hands tugging at your underarms until you were lying on your back, half across the bed. You were not breathing. 

“Y/N,” Bard demanded, his voice urgent and scratchy, but he had to wake you up. He did not know what happened, but he could not let you die. Not after everything, not after all the years he had loved you and lived with you and cared for you. There was no life without you. Tugging your white blonde hair from your face, he saw that your blank eyes were still seeing nothing. Staring without blinking, though you should have a handful of times by now. “No,” Bard whispered. 

“She... “ Sigrid swallowed. “Da, is she okay? Is Ma alright?”

Bard could not help the feeling of dread in his stomach. “What does the letter say, Sigrid?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Bard laced his fingers together over your heart, and began pressing upon your chest, trying desperately to start your heart once more. After a few seconds, he leaned down, and felt for breath, and then tried to listen to your chest, but it was silent. “She… she says that she’s the King of Mirkwood’s cousin.” Bard glanced up sharply, towards his daughter, who was gesturing to the letter in confusion. “It… it doesn’t make any sense, Da. She might have caught the sickness as well-”

“Read it, while I do this, aloud,” Bard ordered, confused but his dread growing the more Sigrid began to read. His sharp compressions did not cease, even when Tilda and Bain began to wake, and did not understand what was happening. 

But all Bard could focus on was trying to wake his wife, and the words Sigrid read shakily. You did not sleep, you had not been touched by time in the last sixteen years, and that this had been your fatal consequence of meeting. Of him thinking you were lost in the woods, and needed somewhere safe to rest. Of him falling in love with you, far too hard and far too fast. 

He had killed you. 

You had given up your own life, to make the four of them have an endless one. It was not fair. It was not a life without you.

“Da, we have to take her to a healer,” Bain was saying, over Tilda’s crying. “They’ll know what to do.”

“An elf heals different than a human,” Sigrid countered. “If Ma’s an elf, than we have to have an elf healer-”

“It’s at least an hour to the shore,” Bain returned, aghast at the suggestion. “And another hour even to get close to Mirkwood, let alone their healers-”

“I can make it in half,” Bard returned, leaving no room for argument as Bain glanced to him. “Get the boat ready. Sigrid, help me carry your mother downstairs. Tilda, help your brother.”

“But the guards-” Tilda cried.

“Go, now,” Bard snapped.

The youngest ran from the room immediately, and Sigrid began helping her father grab you, and grabbed the letters in her hand tightly. Her father was careful down the stairs, and as doors would be in the way, or other obstacles, Sigrid would do her best to make sure there was a safer path. 

“Da, will Ma be okay?” Bard didn’t have an answer. Not one he liked. Because he wasn’t sure, but he hoped so. Maybe… maybe elves were different. Maybe they could come back after they’ve been gone. “What about the house?” Sigrid asked. “Should I lock it up?”

“We’ll come back,” Bard said simply. Bain and Tilda held the boat against the dock, and Bard gently eased himself into the boat, setting you down on the base of it. Bain helped Sigrid and Tilda inside, before he climbed in. 

“They’ll never let us out of the gates,” Bain insisted.

“I’d like to see them try.”

Pushing away from the house, Bard pulled an oar from the ropes at the side and began to row. He had never pushed so hard in his life, yet he pushed the boat along the water, weaving expertly through the turns of the streets at midnight, and when he reached the gates to leave the city, he was told to halt.

“Bard?” 

Bard was relieved to see it was a friend, someone that was at least more likely to let him pass than the Master’s pocketed guards. “Borin,” Bard greeted, but his tone was not one to suggest a friendly conversation. “I need to pass.”

“What’s going on? You never take the children out.” The man that had grown up with the bargeman peeked into the boat, his eyes widening slightly. “Is that-”

“She’s sick,” Bard insisted. Borin stepped back a bit at the news. “I’ve got to go to the elves, they’re my only hope.” 

“Bard,” Borin said gently, as if breaking news to him.

“I’m not asking permission,” Bard said evenly, and maybe he was being irrational. Maybe she was gone. Maybe he’d be too late. But he had to try. “I have to… I have to, Borin.”

Borin sighed. “I didn’t see you.”

Bard dipped his head in thanks. And Borin cast one more glance to the boat, where you lay, and then began to pull the gates up just enough for them to pass under. It took Bard less than forty five minutes to make it to the shores of the lake, and he knew it was another hour’s walk to the guard station. 

He was determined to make it a half hour at the most. “We’ll go with you,” Sigrid insisted.

“No, it’s not safe in the woods-”

“It’s not safe by the boat, either,” Sigrid returned. She was stubborn, resilient, and every bit taking after you than Bard had ever anticipated. “Besides, I have the letters. And you can’t carry both Ma and the letters.”

“Letters? I thought there was only one.”

“She wrote one to the King.”

It was wasting time for them to stand there and argue. He was not sure how long it took to walk, how long he was left to the silence of the woods, passing by the very location that you had first stumbled upon him. He was not even sure why you had been there, if the letter was true. Why would you be so far from the home you lived in? 

Why would you pretend to be human? Why would you walk into something knowing it could bring your end? As Lord Elrond had forewarned you, whoever that person may have been. 

The guard station was glowing in the moonlight of the summer day, and when Bard was spotted, the elf drew an arrow in warning, but did not shoot. “Who goes there?”

“Y/N,” Sigrid called before Bard could say any response. He didn’t know what to say. The bow tilted down slightly, with recognition. So it was true. You were from this realm, you were the King’s own cousin and you had said nothing. “She’s hurt, we need-”

“I do not take orders from humans,” the elf spoke sharply. Sigrid swallowed. But when Bard approached, the elf lowered the bow completely as your face was illuminated in Bard’s arms. “What has happened to her? What have you done?”

Bard didn’t know what she did. “My daughter has the letter she wrote. Something about immortality… A sleep-” The elf’s eyes rose to Bard’s own, before they dropped to the letter Sigrid was holding out. The elf took it carefully, cutting off Bard’s words. And read the letter through quickly. His shoulders changed, falling down slightly as if defeated. “She’s not gone,” Bard insisted. “I know there’s still life in her. There must be. I know someone here can help her.”

Someone had to be here to help her. Bard would not give up. Not when you hadn’t. 

An order was given in a language Bard did not know, and the elf still on the bridge reached for a horn at his waist, and blew. The elf in front of Bard signaled with his hands. “Give her over.”

“Why?” Bard returned. “Wherever she goes, we all go.”

The elf cut a glare to Bard. “She needs to see a healer immediately. And that means that I will be taking her to the kingdom, to be amongst her own people-”

“She’s my wife,” Bard snapped. 

The elf had little patience. “If you had let me finish, I was going to say that upon King Thranduil’s request, you’d be allowed to follow. But I can do nothing, nor allow you entry into the kingdom, without my king’s permission.”

Bard glanced down at your still form in his arms, before he swallowed. Your life was all he cared for. If this elf could promise that you’d go straight to a healer, then he was better to bring you into the kingdom than Bard. As much as it pained him, he passed you over to the elf, who carried you almost effortlessly. 

“I want to stay with her,” Bard said. “I don’t care what it takes, but I’m not leaving her.” The elf nodded. 

“I understand, but you can only see her as soon as the King allows it.” It was the best Bard seemed to be getting. 

“Where are they taking Ma?” Bain asked as the elf began to walk away.

“They’re going to make sure she’s treated well.” The man was moving with much faster speed than Bard himself was able to walk. And that eased Bard. She’d get in fast, and be helped quickly. She had to be. She was practically royalty. 

Only a few moments later was there a guarded escort into the palace, in a throne room where they were forced to wait. And wait.

And wait even longer.

Bard’s arm clutched Tilda close to him, comforting the young girl, much too young to fully understand what was going on. But she knew better to ask any questions when a man with hair even blonder than your own walked into the room with even strides, a confidence that commanded himself. Bard knew who he was without introduction. The King. Your cousin. 

Yet Bard could not help himself. “Is she alright?” The King’s eyes narrowed the closer he approached, annoyed by the question, and the informal etiquette. 

“You must be her... “ the King’s eyes darted to the three children, lingering longest on Sigrid, before he glanced back towards Bard, “family.” 

Bard swallowed. “Yes. Bard, her husband. And Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda-”

“I was told there was a letter,” Thranduil interrupted, as if he did not care. He looked over Bard with distaste. “That she has written to me to explain this situation.” 

Sigrid bowed her head slightly, before digging into her apron pocket and producing the letter that was neatly folded just like the other. Thranduil snatched it from her hand, and ripped the seal open. The letter did not seem long, because the King read it over quickly, and when he was done, he folded it over slowly. 

“She has been missing for over sixteen years, and when she arrives, she is dead,” Thranduil spoke carefully. Bard’s breath left him, the words harder to hear than he had prepared himself for. Thranduil was watching him as if intrigued by the response. “At least, to human eyes.” Bard glanced up sharply, unwilling to let himself hope too soon. “Elves can go without breath for a remarkable amount of time. It is how we have managed to survive all these years and endure. It is a death like sleep she has fallen in before.” 

“No one thought she would wake,” Bard recalled from the letter Sigrid had read.

“So you’ve known of her gifts.”

“No one knew,” Bard admitted. But his stomach was twisting with anticipation. Had he confirmed that you still lived? Bard could not be certain. “We only discovered it when we read the letter left for us, after waking from a fever that had taken hold-”

“She saved you,” Thranduil repeated. “Used her gift on you.” His eyes darted around, and rested on little Tilda. “So young, you all are.”

“Is she alright?” Bard repeated from earlier. “Can I see her?”

Thranduil straightened. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to see.”

“Is Ma dead?” Tilda asked quietly. Bard’s arm tightened around her shoulders, and Tilda sounded so close to tears Bard could offer no answer to appease her.

Thranduil, it seemed, had an answer instead. “She lives, but barely. Her gifts come with a toll, and using it on just one had nearly killed her. Four at once... It is a miracle she did not die there.” The King slipped the letter into the robes. “Come, I am sure you are all very… eager to see her.” His eyes darted around the small family. “I ask for silence in my halls, as it is quite late and the residence of my home expect a easy rest when granted the chance.” Bard agreed, to anything, as long as he could see you. 

The path was winding, and complicated, and dark, but it did not seem like the elf needed much help. And Bard found his eyes adjusting much more quickly than he expected, but it still took long enough for him to nearly stumble twice. They were brought to a set of double doors, with golden vines and light pink flowers covering both doors, and etched into the wood. It was the same pattern that you had embroidered onto your wedding gown.

The same pattern you stitched into the children’s blankets, Sigrid’s coming of age skirts. This was your room, Bard realized. A place that you had called home in a life that you had kept hidden. And as the King opened the doors, the inside was much the same. Vines stretched along the ceiling, with the same light flowers, and more sorts dangling down like tempting treats. 

A light seemed to illuminate the room, and it was the many candles that were lit, the wax dripping onto the windowsill, and joining centuries of wax that had followed the same path. Even more were at the bedside table, where an elf maiden was preparing a concoction for you to drink. 

“The children are to wait in the hall,” Thranduil spoke simply. And as he entered the room, Bard turned to the children. 

“It’ll be alright,” Bard promised them quietly. “Stay here, and you’ll get to see her soon. I need to speak with the healers and find out everything that’s going on.”

“You promise?” Bain asked.

Bard nodded, not verbally consenting, but it was enough for Bard to vow not to go back on his word. Another healer exited without a word, and gave a polite bow to the two men, before the bedroom door was shut behind her, and it was just Bard, the king, and the healer that was easing an elixir into your mouth. 

The healer stepped away as Bard approached. You had been dressed in something less restricting than your usual gown, the laced bodice changed into a fine cotton gown with the same embroidery as the doors and the ceiling. Something of yours you had left behind, no doubt. Your hair was loose, still, soft curls that were bundled over one shoulder. And your cheeks were so pale, you nearly matched the linens. 

Bard’s fingers reached out, tucking a stray curl that always seemed to get into your eyes, no matter what time of day it was, no matter where you were. He loved the curl, because no matter how many times you would try to tame it, pinning it back, it would always pop back up. Only now, as Bard brushed against it, it obeyed. It was nearly as lifeless as you were. 

You still did not breathe. 

“Will she wake?” Bard asked softly, as if afraid to wake you from a likely much needed rest.

“Perhaps,” Thranduil admitted. “Or, she will sleep until her body weakens and falters. No one can be certain. I have sent a rider to another of our kin, who she has grown close with a few thousand years ago. He has been given a gift of foresight, and can give more light than our current understanding of the situation. It seems he was not wrong before. You have brought her end.”

Bard did not like the tone with which Thranduil spoke. “What do you mean? She lives, you said.”

“Oh, yes,” Thranduil admitted. “She does. Our healers have confirmed it. But her body is doing something it did not do the last time.” Bard felt ice water dousing him. “She is becoming mortal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gi melen. Gellon ned i gelir i chent gin ned i ledig. - I love you. I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh. (Or as I’m interpreting it, “I only want to see you happy once more.”) 
> 
> Menno o nin na hon, I eliad annen annin, hon leitho o ngurth. - May the blessing that was given to me, be sent from me to him, may he be released from death.


End file.
